


Prologue, April 7, 1970

by MissAtomicBomb77



Series: For the Greater Good, Let's Do the News [1]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAtomicBomb77/pseuds/MissAtomicBomb77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Skinner could stay in Cambodia for the rest of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue, April 7, 1970

April 7, 1970  
1:09am Local Time  
Charlie’s Fourth Floor Apartment  
Phnom Penh, Cambodia

 

Charles Skinner could stay here for the rest of his life.

Yes, he decided, he very much could. For the first time in a long time, he felt relaxed physically and emotionally. The night tonight was quiet and he swung softly in the hammock he had stung across his modest balcony. He was enjoying a cigarette for once, not just smoking for the sake of doing so. He did that a lot in Saigon in the previous few years. It made him not appreciate the action. He had the same feelings about the drinking as well. They did too much of it, every night in Saigon and it had reached a point that it was hard for him to be around those people because he didn’t want to be constantly drinking and smoking. He liked being able to feel his brain function, thank you.

Those people, that curious mix of reporters, military and natives, they talked about everything and about nothing. They talked about the war, about being at home and talked just to hear themselves. It finally reached a point where it was distracting, the duality of being a reporter in Vietnam. In the morning, you were surrounded by the smell of gunfire and the sounds of the artillery exploding around you. By dinnertime, you’re dressed in your best for a meal of excess with more alcohol than you could ever dream possible. As the darkness settles in, anything from the illicit to the mundane took place. No one ever stopped to think. After two years of this, he decided that he had to leave Saigon. He retreated to Phnom Penh which was a whole different world.

No Five O’clock Follies. No dealing with the television newsmen. No strong American military presence. He was able to go where ever he wanted, whenever he wanted and with almost anyone he wanted. There was a freedom here that didn’t exist in Saigon, but he knew that the next story was going to be here. The war was bleeding across the border and soon enough, it would be saturated with media presence. He was here first and building that trust before things became unstable, that was going to be his key to success. It was Charlie’s chance to be accomplished while doing what he loved doing.

Ever since he was young, he was told he thought too much. His mother told him that as a small child he would almost become paralyzed by the simple choice of what to wear. She did everything she could to keep him from having to struggle with little decisions. Which at first frustrated him, but later he reveled in. She had given him the freedom to think about other things more. It gave him the chance to excel in his studies. His family, they didn’t have a lot of money. His father was a teacher at a boarding school and it paid just enough; his mother stayed at home with him and his younger brother until they were old enough to attend the school themselves. When he was a child, she would take the occasional odd job. Usually it was laundry, but on occasion, a transcription or translation. She was exceptional and he believes that his father wouldn’t have married her otherwise. She completed her husband, but he wondered as he was older if he completed her.

His family floated out of his thoughts as he flexed his toes and flicked the ashes off of his cigarette. Today has been a good day, for he had turned in a magazine sized story he had been working on for the last three weeks or so. There was good money in magazine stories and he had the skill to write them. The long form of reporting is different from the short. He enjoyed it more because it allowed for analysis beyond the fact. It gave him the opportunity to provide insight and make educated conclusions about what he was able to witness. Importantly, he got paid more for them and was able to pick up a few things today, the paramount of them being film for his camera. He splurged for a bottle of bourbon and a few packs of cigarettes. 

He was mentally starting to draft new ideas for the next project now. In addition to getting paid, he even managed to hitch a ride with a green United Press International reporter that wanted to see the countryside in the morning. The UPI reporter was keen on seeing minefields in person. Charlie didn’t ask, didn’t really care, but thought that maybe it might lead to something.

He rubbed his face, purposefully roughing up his beard. It was time to shave it again. He went through these stints where he’d let it grow for a while, shave it off, let it grow again. He usually let it grow out when he was working on a project. Now that his current project was over, it was time for a clean start. Yes, after he came back from the excursion tomorrow, he decided, he was going to shave it off again. He’d have plenty of time to do so, absolutely nothing was going to happen on tomorrow’s trip and he’d be back for a late lunch. He finished his cigarette and eventually drifted off into a restful sleep in the hammock.


End file.
